The Change
by GrimmUlquigrrrl
Summary: A change that takes place changes lives. A change that doesn't changes the world. GrimmUlqui, AU
1. Chapter 1

Grimmjow waited tensely outside the small apartment complex, arms crossed over his chest as his foot tapped restlessly against the ground. He leaned against the black lightpole, staring down one door in particular. It was the first door up the stairs, second and top floor, and it was painted dark blue like all the rest. But Grimmjow knew that behind it lay a treasure, something that wafted off a scent that was brighter by far than the budding spring and, when rarely it spoke, had a deep tenor range that made the air ripple. Grimmjow had to set eyes on that gem- it was the only thing that could make his worries fall away.

He heard the click of the doorknob turning and slid quickly into the shadows. He always felt just a little like a stalker when he did this, but someday soon he wouldn't hide anymore. The door swung open, and Grimmjow caught his breath. He always ended up stunned, somehow, at how gorgeous his gem was. His chin-length black hair shone with undercurrents of purple in the light and so beautifully offset his pale skin, framing his childlike face and its small features. All of his was petite, almost woman like but still distinctly male, and his black skinny jeans framed his lower half nicely even while his plain black t-shirt gave distinction to his torso.

His hands were in his pockets as he stepped out, his beautiful green eyes still turned to his large Mexican friend who stood the doorway. Nonetheless, Grimmjow know that the nails at the end of his long fingers were painted as black as the rest of his attire. He wore a thick studded bracelet on his left wrist, and in the darkness of the night he looked like he belonged with the creatures of the dusk and not with the humans who shunned him. Grimmjow longed to show him what he was missing, even as the sight of him calmed him down.

"See you later, Chad," he said, speaking to the massive Mestizo blocking the light from the room. That was fine with Grimmjow- his sensitive eyes couldn't handle much more light at all. As that voice carried gently to Grimmjow on the breeze, he felt himself shiver despite the relative warmth.

"Mm," Chad said, nodding. From what Grimmjow could tell he was a man of few words. A petite redhead girl with big doe eyes and every asset a man could want in a female popped out from behind him, smiling widely.

"Bye-bye, Ulquiorra-kun!" she chirped. Oh, such a beautiful name, and Grimmjow could never get enough of hearing it. Ulquiorra… it was so unique, so individual, and it so belonged with such a spectacular young man. From the angle Grimmjow was looking from, the thin teartrack tattoos that Ulquiorra had down his face from both eyes were nearly invisible, but that was alright. Grimmjow knew they were all there.

"See you tomorrow, Orihime-san, Tatsuki-san," Ulquiorra said, addressing the redhead and another athletic looking girl Grimmjow couldn't see. He was so much more formal with them, Grimmjow noted, and he got the distinct feeling that Ulquiorra was only ever there for the sake of seeing Chad. Orihime disappeared from view as she waved and turned back to speak with Tatsuki, and the way that she brushed Ulquiorra off made Grimmjow a little irritated. Chad, though, watched Ulquiorra walk to his own door a few rooms down to be sure that he made it safely.

Grimmjow watched him too. Given the way he dressed and looked one expected him to walk a little hunched, but his back was straight and proud. He walked with a certain dignity, like a person who had been through life and could hold his own. His movements were smooth and graceful, and following them made Grimmjow relax farther. He was so glad for how slowly, easily Ulquiorra walked, not rushing himself, giving Grimmjow the longest look he could get. Grimmjow didn't dare blink, though his eyes burned.

Ulquiorra stopped at his door, turning his back to the open night and Grimmjow as his hands came out of his pockets, one holding a shiny gold key. Grimmjow leaned forward a little, watching him unlock the door; he was glad that Ulquiorra was cautious. Crime waves in the small, wood surrounded town had gone up, and Grimmjow's kind thought that it had to do with the increased number of hunters around. Things were getting dangerous, and a locked door was at least some protection; more since a few nights ago when Grimmjow had hidden a stone arrowhead under Ulquiorra's doormat. It was ancient, and once upon a time human hunters had used it to his Grimmjow's great-great-grandfather. It wasn't a particularly strong charm, as Grimmjow didn't want to draw unwanted attention to Ulquiorra's place of dwelling, but it could subconsciously guide hunters away.

Grimmjow heard from across the street the click as Ulquiorra's door unlocked. That click weighed on his heart, because he knew that it meant Ulquiorra was going in. as certain as the sun rises, that soft form opened the door, flicking on the lights as the door closed again, this time on him on the other side of it. Immediately Grimmjow's body went a little slack, even before Chad shut his own door. He sighed a little. It was never long enough. The tenseness was already creeping back in; and now Grimmjow had to go home. He knew just what his father would have to say to him.

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"Why do you keep going to see him?" Grimmjow's father shouted, his stress and frustration boiling over as he slammed his broad hands down on his desk and stood up.

"Because he's my _mate!_" Grimmjow shouted back, taking a step forward angrily. "Aren't you the one that told me so when I described to you what it felt like? Or was that only _before_ I told you he was a male?"

"How would you know?" Grimmjow's father argued, ignoring the last question. "You're so young! You could be wrong! You're only nineteen, you don't know anything about the world!"

"I know that I'm a were!" Grimmjow defended. "I know that the hunters are killing my people! I know that we're different from humans! I know that I can't tell anyone outside of this mansion because they would think I'm insane! And I know that I have found my mate!"

"Oh really?" Grimmjow's father retorted. "Then what's his favorite color? What does he hate eating? Does he like coffee? What type of books does he read? Does he read books? What are his parents' names?"

"Don't you think I want to know?" Grimmjow cried. "Don't you think I want to ask him?"

"Does he even know you _exist,_ Grimmjow?" Grimmjow's father asked. Grimmjow winced at the pain in his chest that came with that question, and at knowing that his father had wanted it to hurt. "Has he ever seen your face? No! Why do you just _assume_ that he will love you back someday? You know nothing about him!"

"I know that he's my _mate!_" Grimmjow shouted. "If he wasn't, would I have used granpapa's arrowhead on him?" Grimmjow's father's eyes, the exact same shade of blue as Grimmjow's own, widened furiously.

"You WHAT?" the man shouted loudly, his voice gaining a semblance of the roar he gave in his bear form. "I gave that to _you_ so you could protect yourself when you're in human territory!"

"He _lives_ in human territory!" Grimmjow yelled. "He _is_ a human! He has no claws or teeth or venom that he can use to protect himself!"

"You're putting your life on the line for someone who doesn't know you!" Grimmjow's father shouted.

"He _will_ know me!" Grimmjow said, walking backwards to the door. If he stayed here any longer, he could end up doing even more damage to his relationship with his father. And he didn't want that to happen at all. "He will!"

He slammed the door with a loud bang behind him, growling angrily at the members of his 'family' who had heard the commotion and come to listen in. "What do you think _you're_ looking at?" he asked dangerously, lifting the side of his upper lip to show his deadly teeth. The weres, only a few of the many that stuck around Grimmjow's dad for protection, backed off. Some of them looked scared, others curling their own lip but knowing that they couldn't take Grimmjow on; the blue-haired teen was well-known as a powerful fighter, and even if they could take him down they knew that would mean death by a certain werebear, one who was currently cursing alone behind a door Grimmjow had just slammed.

Why was it lately that Grimmjow left his father to do that so much?


	2. Chapter 2

Grimmjow sat idly on his bed, scanning for the thousandth time over every piece of information he'd gathered on Ulquiorra and his friends. There had to be something in there, some key that would let him in to Ulquiorra's life. He'd actually written a list down, but now he had it memorized. It went as such:

Ulquiorra

Chad

Ishida

Ichigo

Wears a lot of black

Shops at Hot Topic

Maybe likes tea

Mexican

Speaks Spanish

Ulquiorra stays with him a lot

Drinks a lot of coffee

Orphan

Goes back to Mexico once a year for his abuelo's deathaversary

President of the handicrafts club

Takes archery lessons

Wears glasses

Dad is a surgeon

Dad is a doctor

Maybe bleaches his hair

Annoys Ulquiorra a lot

Takes Krav Maga

Grimmjow hated that, out of the four people on the list, the one he knew the least about was Ulquiorra. He must have been done with school, because he didn't go to one. Grimmjow had spent so long camping out, trying to learn about what Ulquiorra does, but he was always inside and rarely ever came out. It was clear to Grimmjow that Ulquiorra had been picked on as a kit, and that explained why he was normally alone. He was more comfortable that way.

Then Grimmjow, desperate (yes, he knew he was desperate) to learn _some_thing about his mate's life, started looking into his friends. The one he looked at most was Chad, since Ulquiorra seemed to spend most of the time with him. Chad was pretty quiet, so Grimmjow guessed that Ulquiorra was too or they wouldn't get along so well. Honestly, Chad seemed like a good person, one who would risk his own health for his friends. Grimmjow was glad that someone like that was there for his Ulquiorra.

Ishida and Ichigo were less interesting, and yet still somehow Grimmjow knew more about them than about his mate. Because Ulquiorra _was_ his mate, he knew it; he could feel it in the way the air got lighter when Ulquiorra was around, in the way that his normally balled fists relaxed just at the sight of hat sweet face. No matter what his father said, Grimmjow would never give up on Ulquiorra, nev-

He jumped, immediately going rigid as if preparing for a fight as his bedroom door burst open. It was his father, and Grimmjow could tell from the frantic look in his eyes that this had nothing to do with any anger left simmering from their fight a few days ago. "Dad?" he asked, feeling the sinking in his gut that told him how very, very wrong something was. His father, despite his temper, _always_ knocked first.

"Grimmjow. Grimmjow, are you alright?" his father asked, striding forward and clasping Grimmjow's face in both hands, making him look at him as if he needed reaffirmation that his son was still there.

"I'm fine, Dad," Grimmjow answered, grabbing one of his father's large, warm, calloused hands and looking at him. "What is it? What happened?" He saw his father's tan lips purse, trouble overcoming the worry in his face. That was never, never a good sign. Grimmjow's dad was a big guy, one with a lot of brute strength, one who was rarely ever troubled by anything. Thoughts of Ulquiorra were momentarily pushed away. Grimmjow's father let his hands drop, and immediately Grimmjow missed the touch; how long had it been since he and his dad had gotten the chance to just be together? Between work, hunters, and Ulquiorra, far too long.

"Son," his father said, shoulders slumping as he carded his hands through his short, prickly hair, "son, the hunters infiltrated the manor." Grimmjow shot up.

"What? Where are they?" he asked frantically, feeling his feet move into a position from which he could take on the world. His father gently tried to push him back down.

"Gone," he said. "We've searched everywhere, but even the weredogs can't catch any sort of a scent. Wherever they were, however they got in, they're not here now."

"Well- is everyone okay?" Grimmjow asked, his mind turning to the multitudes of weres who lived in this massive house with them. His father's face fell, and he rubbed his corded neck without looking at Grimmjow. Grimmjow could sense that there was reluctance in his stance. "What?" Grimmjow said, immediately on edge. "What is it?"

"It's- it's Luppi," his dad admitted. Grimmjow felt both nervous for the news and, at the same time, relieved; he hadn't known Luppi very well at all, except that he was hella annoying.

"The wereoctopus?" he asked. "What happened to him? How bad is it?" Grimmjow's father's mouth twitched down heavily at the edges, as if something weighty was sitting in the creases of his frown.

"They killed him, son," he said. Grimmjow's eyes widened; that was a hard hit. Sur, he'd threatened to kill Luppi once or twice when the turd had pissed him off, but the hunters had actually done it- and had managed to get into the manor to do so. And then gotten out without a trace, baffling even Starrk, who was the lead weredog on the tracking team. "His body was found just a half-hour ago. It was already cold- he'd been dead for hours."

"Well-" Grimmjow started, mind whirring to find some way to deny it, "well, are we sure that it was hunters? He could have just done something stupid and wound up dead." His father shook his head.

"No good," he said. "He was killed with a hunter's bullet." Grimmjow felt the only hope he had get crushed. Hunter's bullets were designed specifically to put a hole in a were, their dynamics making them pointed like the tips of a sword and able to fly faster and gain more velocity so they could penetrate a were's thicker, tougher stuff. Hunters had been specially making them for generations, in secret forges that no were could ever find. There was no way Luppi could have gotten a hold of one.

"But…" Grimmjow stuttered, "but, where was his body found? Was it outside?"

"No, son," his dad stated. "He was found in his room."

"In the center right wing?" Grimmjow asked. Where had all the air gone all of a sudden? "How did they get that far into the building?" Dad sighed.

"I-… I don't know, Grimmjow," he admitted (his father, admitting something like that, in his room, one fist clenched- how much worse could this get?) as he rubbed his neck again. "Not a single person heard, smelled, or saw anything at all."

"How do you miss a human walking through the halls?" Grimmjow asked, the familiar feeling of his roiling emotions getting thrown into the fire to fuel a more regular feeling for him; anger. "How do you not hear a gunshot?"

"Calm down, Grimmjow," his father warned.

"Calm down?" Grimmjow said. "_Calm down?_ A hunter just waltzed right into my house and killed one of my people! Hell no, I'm not gonna calm down!" Grimmjow's father, in a curveball emotional throw, smiled a little, looking kind of proud, and even though Grimmjow didn't know why it still felt good to make his father feel proud. That didn't quite quash his anger, of course.

"Don't worry about it for now, son," his dad said, setting a heavy hand on Grimmjow's shoulder. "They're gone now, and we're upping security in here. It's almost nighttime, why don't you take Cirucci, Nnoitra and Neliel and go hunting?"

"Aw, dad, do I have to take Nnoitra?" Grimmjow asked.

"No, you don't," dad smiled fondly, chuckling a little. "Just make sure you take somebody else. How about Cuulhorne?"

"The gay guy?" Grimmjow scoffed. The last time he'd gone somewhere with Charlotte Cuulhorne he ended up listening to that weirdo mutter on about beauty and his 'perfect heart.' Oh, and roses. Don't forget about the roses; their nectar is the purest and makes the smoothest honey… or something. Grimmjow caught his dad's look. "Eh, o-okay, good idea. I'll take him." His father smiled a little again.

"Alright then, have fun," he said. "I'll let you go find them. Be careful."

"Will do, Dad," Grimmjow said, rolling his eyes as his father headed out his large wooden door. "See ya when I get back."

"You bet," his father said. "Oh, and Grimmjow- you called them _your_ people." With those words in the open and a big smile on his face, he left Grimmjow wide-eyed in his room. Out in the hall, he grinned to himself. It looked like his baby boy was becoming a reliable man.

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Grimmjow walked out into the cooler night air, hands in the pockets of his jeans. The green-haired Neliel was the first to look up from her sitting place on a stump, and she motioned to the other two weres that their leader was coming. Grimmjow sauntered over to them easily as Cirucci, an Italian chick with purple ponytails and a weird purple tearmark under one eye, stood up and put her hands on her hips. Grimmjow didn't think the clown-like painted tear looked as classy as Ulquiorra's tattoos.

"There you are!" she said indignantly, her one leg lax as she leaned on the other. "We've been waiting for you!" Grimmjow cocked a brow and curled his lip up just a little in a wry, canine-showing smile as if to say, 'Oh, really? I hadn't known.'

"Yeah, well, I'm here now," he said, stopping in front of them. "Are you ready to- oi, Cuulhorne! What's wrong with you?" Cuulhorne was sitting a yard away or so, his back turned on the group so that all anyone could see was his way-too-long hair. He had his knees pulled up to his chest, and he was shaking. Then he suddenly shot up and spun around, screaming hysterically.

"I apologize, Grimmjow-sama!" he screeched, "but I cannot- I _cannot_- look at… look at… _that!"_ He pointed backward to Cirucci, whose eyes widened indignantly. She glared.

"What was that?" she yelled, grabbing Cuulhorne by the collar and shaking him. He screwed his eyes shut.

"Ah! Ah! No, I mustn't stain my beautiful eyes with such horrible color-clash!" he cried. "Purple with any orange but pastel is so ugly!"

"Whaaat?" Cirucci demanded.

"That shirt!" Cuulhorne said. "It's burnt sienna."

"What of it?" Cirucci said, shaking him so hard that his neck almost audibly snapped back and forth. Grimmjow glanced at Neliel, but she just stood watching in her queer, semi-emotionless way. She wasn't going to step in.

"Oi," Grimmjow said, taking initiative.

"And the v-neck!" Cuulhorne cried. "Oh, the v-neck! A square cut neck would flatter your chest so much more!"

"_Oi!_" Grimmjow said again.

"Why're you thinking about what flatters my chest?" Cirucci growled angrily.

"Oi!" Grimmjow shouted, taking a step forward toward the dueling two.

"Of course I think about it!" Cuulhorne shouted. "You so often wear such ugly things that I can't _help_ but think about it!"

"Why you little bastard! Say that one more time, I da-" Grimmjow took a deep breath a stretched his jaw to its farthest, his lips tight over his gums and his white, white teeth glistening in the almost full moon as he yowled. Everyone jumped, the sound of a top-notch predator's battle cry sending ice through their veins. It was a feeling that Grimmjow had only felt a sparse few times, but one that he didn't hesitate to press on others, and it always worked. The two stopped fighting, and as his noise dwindled he allowed his mouth to shut, purposefully letting his teeth to clack together menacingly. There was silence as he looked around and them. A part of him reveled in the fear in his eyes; the only other hunter in the group was Cirucci, and she was far from being the top of the food chain.

Grimmjow shoved his hands back in his pockets, 'tch'ing. "Jeez, I hate when people don't listen to me," he grumbled, stepping past them to the side and into the dense forest. "Well," he called, "now you know what my distress signal is. I don't care what my father told you, but stay off my tail. I don't hunt in packs. Let's go." He could feel that the group wasn't particularly pleased with the way he bossed them around, but there was nothing they or anyone else could do about it. He would be their boss someday anyway.

He kicked off his tennis shoes, leaving them haphazardly strewn by a tree trunk as he raked his nails down the bark to mark it. He immediately felt a sort of homing device lock onto that one tree out of that whole forest, a nifty little built-in tool that he and every other were was born with that allowed them to always make their way back to any marked sight. He pulled his navy blue t-shirt over his head, lumping it with his shoes on the grassy ground. Those two items were the only items Grimmjow had to remove, the only two that wouldn't change when he did, and now came the best part. He grinned wildly.

He leapt into the air, his muscular form morphing as muscles detached from one another to connect to different ones, his bones becoming like clay, and some unseen ancient hand molding them. His spine, which always felt incomplete in his human form, blossomed and stretched out behind him into a prehensile tail as his skin rippled and sprouted sleep black fur that held a tint of the blue that was his natural. His teeth lengthened in his mouth, claws forming inside pouches of skin. He landed on his front two paws.

He stretched out his lean panther form, opening his mouth widely and allowing his rough tongue to curl as he yawned reflexively. He stood straight up and shook out his back legs one at a time as he sniffed around for traces of prey. The scent of a small group of deer still lingered on the budding leaves, and Grimmjow's mouth watered. They weren't too far off from where he was; he could almost see them through the thick trees, their light brown hides broken speckles between the trunks. There were three, maybe four of them. His blue eyes dilated.

There was a fluttering of wings, and Grimmjow looked up to see a peregrine falcon with grey-purple wings perching on one of the many high branches. Grimmjow rumbled a growl her way, a warning: I told you to stay away. Cirucci didn't move, just puffing out the speckled white feathers on her chest in a display of defiance. Grimmjow bared his teeth, his ears pulling back and lying flat against his skull- all signs to Cirucci, and it was the only warning he would give her.

She remained on the branch, looking a little bit like she thought that Grimmjow couldn't reach her; then again, it was hard to tell on a falcon's face. But, whether she believed herself invulnerable up that high or not, Grimmjow had no intention to let her think that. He crouched for a split millisecond before using his powerful legs to rocket forward, his speed exceeding that of what Cirucci could fly as he sprinted to the tree. He didn't stop for a second, launching himself into the night and allowing his retractable claws to unsheathe themselves and dig deep into the tree with as much ease as he had run across the ground.

In an instant he was at her branch, snapping his teeth as he let go of the trunk. He snarled, and Cirucci squawked as his deadly jaw nearly caught her feet. She had taken flight, and it was velar that it she had waited another few moments to do it Grimmjow would be eating were instead of deer. He landed on the now-empty branch smoothly, still growling up at Cirucci as she flapped wildly well above the trees, cawing at him disdainfully. He snarled again, crouching as if he were to go for her, and she quickly steered herself away on the light breeze. If he'd had the facial muscles to smirk, he would have.

He realized that there was a tenseness in the air, the tenseness of prey listening with pounding hearts for something they thought they'd heard. It was the deer; they must have heard Grimmjow's threatening noises. Grimmjow froze, stilling every muscle as he caught sight of his meal through the branches- he had been right about how many there were, only four, and one of them was a foal. Very newly born, still just a little wobbly on its legs and with its white spots showing up bright on his back, a perfectly weak target. Grimmjow overlooked it.

He set his sights on a doe of medium size with enough muscle to be firm but enough fat to be tasty, a nearly perfectly proportioned meal for an animal like Grimmjow. There would be some left over, but Grimmjow could take it back for it to be smoked into jerky for when animals were scarce. The deer slowly went back to eating, and Grimmjow quickly leapt onto a branch on a tree rather closer to the unsuspecting deer without making the leaves so much as rustle in his wake. The art of silence, while incredibly difficult to master in human form, came natural to him like this.

The deer below stayed oblivious to his presence as his tail flicked back and forth behind him. He, from thirty feet above them, could just about see his trajectory down. He had caught a lucky break; not only were the deer unbelievably close to the tree he was in but he was already in the tree to begin with and didn't have to climb it, which always left him in plain sight until he got into the branches and always made a little too much noise. He crouched down, surveying the whole scene over one last time before getting into the perfect position.

He pounced, propelling himself off the branch to soar in a perfect arc, his front paws stretched out in front of him as the wind of his flight lay his short, soft fur against his skin. He didn't roar or yowl despite the instinct to, knowing that it was one of the reasons that wild non-were big cats only caught one out of ten prey animals. Instead he stayed completely, almost angelically silent, feeling his knife-sharp claws spring out; and then he was on it.

The other deer scattered, kicking up dust with their cleaved hooves in their frantic attempt to escape, but the one doe was pinned. The hooves thundered, and the terrified hostage kicked her own legs wildly against the air. Grimmjow could smell the adrenaline, the fear, wafting into his nostrils as his teeth sunk into his quarry's skull. He crunched down, a massive cracking sound reverberating as the bones caved under the force of Grimmjow's bite, a hot flood of blood, brainmatter and the occasional shard of bone sweeping into his mouth. The deer twitched, once, twice, the last electric charges passing through its nervous system after death.

Time to eat.

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Grimmjow returned to his tree, in a form that allowed him to walk upright on his two hind legs and unscrew the top of a mayonnaise jar with his opposable thumbs, wiping the cooling blood off of his mouth. A bee buzzed by his head annoyingly, and he swatted at it in warning. He didn't hit him, but passed close enough that the current of air sent the insect careening. "Stop it, Cuulhorne," he demanded pitilessly, bending down to put his shoes back on and ignoring that Neliel was grazing a little too close to his shirt. Even in sheep form, Neliel was too smart to try to take a bite. Grimmjow pulled the shirt over to him just in case.

Cuulhorne still buzzed by his ear, the perfect place to make an infuriating sound. Grimmjow frowned. "Dammit Cuulhorne, go away! Or at least morph back, you're annoying like this," the panther said. Cuulhorne buzzed indignantly, but must have considered it wise advice as he darted in an odd zigzag pattern over to Neliel, who put up with him stoically. Grimmjow grabbed his shirt and shoved his arms through the holes, stretching the fabric out over his arms and starting to pull it over his wild hair. "Hey, where the hell is Cirucci?" he asked, delving his head into the tight darkness, pulling the bottom of his shirt down over his hard-formed abs.

"I'm not sure," he heard a soft voice say as he squeezed his head through the collar. Neliel, in human form, was sitting Indian style on the flourishing grass, her honey colored eyes silently observing. It didn't seem to bother her at all that she was in her panties.

"What, did you not have any shape-shift clothes clean?" Grimmjow asked her, straightening out his shirt.

"I thought my clothes _were_ shape-shift clothes," she replied. "I was wrong." Grimmjow rolled his eyes to the sky; how typically Neliel to not double check and end up ripping her clothes to shreds when she changed.

"Whatever," he said, starting off; he found himself putting his hands in his pockets the way Ulquiorra did. "Let's go. Cuulhorne, shift back and carry the rest of that deer." Cirucci could find her way back on her own.


	3. Chapter 3

Grimmjow yawned widely, flipping onto his stomach and stretching out the way fat housecoats do; on his knees with his arms flat on et bed in front of him. He'd been some sort of beat when he went to bed, and feeling his tense muscles burn and stretch really helped him to get up and going. Still, he knew he had to see Ulquiorra soon. No amount f stretching could do what seeing that emerald-eyed beauty could. Even Grimmjow would admit that he was starting to worry about Cirucci, who hadn't shown up since the hunting escapade five days ago, and he knew that if something happened to the little shit it would very much be on his head.

In fact, his father had made very sure that he knew that. As soon as Grimmjow had returned home, a member of his entourage absent from the group, his father had gone off on him for not looking for the werefalcon while he was out there- but no one could do go out there who was any good at tracking, because they were all nocturnal by nature and their light-sensitive eyes couldn't handle the rising sun. In all honesty, Grimmjow had really thought that Cirucci was just mad at him and would show up in a few hours complaining about him. But she didn't, and now everyone was growing tense- well, more tense than they had already been, which was really tense as it was. There were some people who were blaming it on his father, saying that Brutus had been too soft on his son and allowed him to go out so soon after a hunter attack just because he wanted to pamper Grimmjow even more- and Grimmjow despised that. What happened didn't have anything to do with his father, and any doubt he'd had about his dad's decision to let him out so soon was wiped away by the other people's ideas.

Grimmjow sat up, looking around his room. He looked at the digital clock on his singular bedside table and discovered that it was two 'till twelve, when the sun was highest in the sky, and he was glad his maroon-red walls had no windows. If he'd woken up to that sort of sunlight his tender eyes would have been shell shocked. As he generally did, he wondered why so much of his room was red. All that wasn't was the carpet, which was beige, the dark wood of his furniture and one olive green armchair, and he found that odd. He didn't actually like the color red, but he couldn't imagine his room any different. He stood and went over to his large standing dresser, opening it and grabbing a fresh shirt.

He slipped the blue t-shirt on as he walked out into the hallway, nearly bumping into Neliel. He jumped, surprised. "Woah!" he said. Then he recognized the green-haired young woman and settled- although he would never admit it, for a moment he thought she was a hunter. He pushed the sickening image of Luppi the dead wereoctopus' dead body out of his mind. "Oh, hey Neliel. Y'know, you really shouldn't sneak up on predators like that."

"I apologize," Neliel said softly, clasping her hands in front of her and looking down in a typical display of prey-predator reverence though Grimmjow knew she wasn't afraid of him. "Your father wants to talk to you. He's in a good mood." Grimmjow grimaced a little. Lately his father's 'good moods' were only slightly less stressed than his bad ones.

"Alright. Thanks, Neliel," he said, rubbing the back of his head. Dad probably wanted to talk a little more about where Cirucci was last seen, which was almost certain to lead to blame, which _was_ certain to lead to fighting, and Grimmjow was tired of fighting. But it wasn't as if he could just not go, so he sighed and headed off.

"He really is in a good mood," Neliel said as he left. Grimmjow really hoped so.

A matter of moments later found Grimmjow slipping into his father's office with a knock. "Dad?" he called carefully, sticking his head in; his dad was waiting for hi, leaning back in his chair with his hands on his belly.

"Come on in, Grimmjow," he said. "I've been thinking about something lately that I want to talk with you about. Can you sit down?" Grimmjow, who had come fully into the room and had shut the door behind him, felt his belly flop nervously. His father never asked him to sit down, because he knew how formal it felt for them to be staring at each other over the shining wood of his desk. What on earth could his father have been thinking about that would draw him to ask. But Grimmjow slowly stepped across the bright oriental carpet and sat in the chair. He was silent, his hands on his knees.

"Thanks, Grimmjow," Brutus said with a weary smile, as if just having his son there with him sitting down like a friend at a dinner table was something incredibly important to him and soothed whatever it was that hurt him. Grimmjow pressed his lips together worriedly. "Listen, I've been thinking about somethings..." Oh, shit, he was gonna go off about Ulquiorra. "Actually, just en thing. About the family.

"Grimmjow, I've come to realize lately all the things I've done wrong," he continued, and at once Grimmjow remembered the foolish rumors and growled.

"Dad, the Cirucci thing doesn't have anything to do with you-!" he erupted angrily, but Brutus put up a finger to quiet him.

"Yes, it dose, son," he said. "The things that have been flying around of late hold a truth to them." Once again, he had to stop Grimmjow from bursting out in angered indignation before he could continue. "It's alright, Grimmjow. One of the most important characteristics of a good leader is the ability to recognize where he's faulted, and I will admit that I'm not very god at that, either. I was wrong to allow you out o hunt so soon after an attack, especially since the culprits weren't caught. I just wanted you to feel like things were alright, but to do that I put your life and the lives of everyone who went with you in danger. Now one of them is missing and ma be dead, and everyone is doubting me. As they should."

Grimmjow wanted to deny it, he really did, and he believed that it was deniable, but he couldn't say a word. He could only stay silent, and listen. "I've made a lot of mistakes in my life," Brutus went on, "and most of them were spurred by anger. I'm afraid that I passed my temper onto you, son, and I don't want you falling into that trap. You've told me ever since you were yea high that you wanted to be the leader of the family after me, and I think that it's time you start preparing for that. I don't plan on dying any time soon," he said, seeing the fear on Grimmjow's face, "but it's never too early to start readying yourself. And there's a lot I have to tell you."

"Like what?" Grimmjow asked, shifting in his seat. He didn't like where this was going.

"Like my mistakes," his father said. "History doesn't need to be repeated."

"You haven't messed up _that_ much, Dad," Grimmjow said desperately. "You've done so much great stuff, anybody here'll tell you that!"

"I want to talk about that too," Brutus said. "I've learned what you can and can't do around this family and how to keep them happy, and that's something I want to pass on to you too. But first you need to know what not to do.

"I think the most important thing I've learned is that keeping my anger in check is essential, and that'll be important for you too. Like I said, you got your temper from me and it's almost impossible to hold back. It was always so much easier when your mother was around, Grimmjow," the large man sighed, and Grimmjow could see the years of grief and loneliness come crashing back in the way his father's back sagged and the lines under his eyes deepened. Brutus had always had Grimmjow to live for, but nothing could fill the hole of a dead mate. "But she's not around anymore, and I have yet to figure out how to act like she still is. Almost every wrong decision I've ever made has been on account of my anger, and that'll be an obstacle for you too. Do you understand me, Grimmjow?"

Grimmjow nodded dumbly. Whenever his dad talked about his mom it was a dead give-away to his emotional state; right now he was depressed and helpless, and Grimmjow couldn't do anything about it. So he just sat there and listened, and hoped that would relieve some of the weight on his father's battered shoulders. "Good. I'm glad, son. I would like for you to start trying to keep a handle on your rage, as of today. I think it'll make it easier for you later." Again, Grimmjow nodded. Brutus nodded a little to, more to himself than to Grimmjow. "Good, good.

"It's also important to remember that you are the leader of a people, and your strength comes from them. I've often though that I, as their leader, was stronger than the people who follow me, but that's not true. You have to mingle with them, Grimmjow, you have to make them feel that you are one of them. And you have to trust them and their judgement. If someone comes to you with a complaint, you have to listen. If there's a fight, you need to break it up. If there's a shortage of anything, you need to go find more. Do anything for your family."

"Gotcha," Grimmjow said. "Anything for the family." His dad nodded again.

"And that includes getting to know them. Let me tell you, Grimmjow, when weres started to come to me looking for protection I turned most of them away. I didn't want to have to deal with a bunch of other people. I was only a little older than you are now, and the last thing I wanted was to be responsible for people. When I did start to take people in, I never paid any attention to them and they became frustrated with me. I was supposed to be protecting them, and I ignored them instead. Don't do that. Every were here is a person, with a past and a future, and by getting to know them you tell them that you respect that. That's important."

"Okay," Grimmjow said, fidgeting unhappily in his chair. He hadn't gone outside since the Cirucci incident and he was getting cabin fever, and this conversation made him feel really uncomfortable. He'd seen his dad mad, he'd seen his dad sad, he'd seen his dad happy, he'd seen his dad worried, he'd seen his dad stressed, but he'd never seen this serious, detached side to his father, and it worried him. He just wanted to get out of that room.

"You need to take in their shapeshifts too," his dad continued. "I'm sure you've noted that weres act differently based on their animal form, and you need to be careful to keep certain people away from others. Especially predator insects can be very violent, like Nnoitra, the praying mantis." Grimmjow nodded, and he was careful not to look into his father's eyes. He noticed something bending the light differently on the face of the desk and allowed it to catch his wandering eye as his natural curiosity kicked in. He looked at it a little sharper and saw that it was a group of liquid droplets formed in a ring, as if there had been a cup sitting there just before Grimmjow came in. Why would his father hide a cup?

Then Grimmjow became aware of the stinging smell of cheap alcohol lingering in the room. He finally picked up on the slight sway of his father's broad shoulders, the slight difficulty in his speech, the reddened edges of his eyes. Grimmjow clenched his fists on his knees, his mouth and eyebrows frowning grimly. It had been a long time since his father had taken to the bottle, and though Grimmjow had only been seven he could remember it clearly. He had though, at the promise of his father, that it would never happen again. But it had happened, and now he was older, he had to do something. He stood slowly, and his father's hazy eyes followed the movement.

"Come on, dad," he said softly, as if he were placating Cerberus as he came around the desk, putting a gentle hand on Brutus' thick arm. "Let's go to bed. You need to sleep." Brutus erupted up with a loud roar, startling Grimmjow as he suddenly changed- it was as if a light had been flicked on or off, it was so fast. One moment his was lucid, and the next he was vehement and holding Grimmjow on his tiptoes by the collar of his shirt. Grimmjow stared in wide-eyed horror as the normally gentle man's eyes became little wild pinpricks in his veined eyes, spittle flying into Grimmjow's face as he yelled.

"I'm helping you!" Brutus screamed, shaking Grimmjow harshly. He was so close that Grimmjow could smell the beer on his breath. The teenager was terrified; never in his weeks of drinking had Brutus ever struck out against his son, and Grimmjow had always thought that even in his drunken haze he had loved Grimmjow too much to do so. Now he knew that it wasn't true, that the anger had just never been directed at him. It had nothing to do with love, and at the revelation his chest compressed painfully. "I'm helping you!" Brutus repeated. "How dare you talk to me like a retard? How dare you? To your own father!"

Grimmjow felt the blow hit his gut, felt the same guilt he had felt as a child, felt that, somehow, it was his failings that had driven his father to this level of helplessness. He struggled fro his father's grip, feeling the blood well under his abs from the force of his father's knuckles as he stumbled and ran out with all his speed. He crashed through the door, running like a wild man, not bothering to try and close it again as he heard his father howling in his office.

Grimmjow tripped up the stairs, breathing heavily as he passed the few weres who were looking at him with wide eyes, clearly terrified. They had never seen their leader in such a state either, being new to the group- but Grimmjow didn't pause for a moment. He bolted into his room, slamming the door shut and holding in that way as if he were a piglet hiding from the big bad wolf. His breath came in sobbing gasps, though his eyes were too frightened to teat. His stomach throbbed with the beat of his heart, and he was sure a nasty bruise was forming.

What had he done wrong?


	4. Chapter 4

There were very few things that could hit a were hard enough to burst the blood vessels sheathed under their iron skin.

One of them was a stronger were.

Grimmjow lay on his bed, hand on his throbbing stomach as he stared at his ceiling. Since Grimmjow was a pretty strong were, and nobody picked on him anyway on account of his status, he was unaccustomed to the pain coming from under his hand. He had once been accustomed to the pain in his chest, but years of peace had made him vulnerable again.

He hadn't seen his father drink since his mother had died in childbirth, taking his would-be younger sister with her. She had been a beautiful woman, by a were's understanding of the word, strong and sinuous like the snake of her shapeshift and graced with the patience of such a hunter. She had been Brutus' perfect match, calming and checking him and, when necessary, kicking his ass. She had by no means been stronger than the werebear, but she had a speed and agility far greater than her partner's. She loved her mate- and she'd loved her son. Unlike Brutus, who felt bound by duty to protect and love everyone, she loved fiercely and exclusively and would only defend precious few. Grimmjow had adored her.

As difficult as it had been on Grimmjow coping with his loss, his father took it harder. Much harder. He had been out hunting with Grimmjow when she'd entered labor unexpectedly back home, and neither of them had known it. But Brutus had felt her death, like some chain anchored to his soul ripping loose and tearing a piece of him away with it. He had howled terrifyingly, scaring his young son, and it was a sound Grimmjow would never forget. In all of his drunken ravings Brutus had never said a word about his lost daughter- only his beautiful mate. Grimmjow supposed it would have been easier on him to loose both of his children in the same moment than his one lover. Nothing could fill the hole of a dead mate.

Grimmjow closed his eyes wearily, feeling his whole body ache in a physical testament to his mind, and a picture flashed and grew on the back of his lids. A tall, slim build, sleek black hair, green eyes and permanent tears, a human who should have been a were. And all of a sudden every ache in his muscles was an energy that was almost painful in its pointedness. He had to see Ulquiorra. He had to. Nothing else could keep him from drowning all over again in the pain. The need stole his breath away. Before he knew it he was standing, running, leaving the room, flying down the carpeted stairs. There was a large group of weres standing in front of the door, just milling around, but Grimmjow didn't care. He was barreling through them.

Multiple sets of arms caught him and flung him back, and suddenly the group of lounging weres was alert and grouping to block the door from him. Grimmjow looked around at their faces, frantically confused. Coyote Starrk stepped out from the pack, and Grimmjow realized that all these weres were canines. "Sorry, Grimmjow," Starrk said, putting his hands in his pockets in a way that reminded Grimmjow achingly of Ulquiorra, "house is in lockdown. We can't let you out." Suddenly Grimmjow was snarling, his hackles raising.

"God dammit, Starrk," he threatened, adding his yowl to his words, "you're _going_ to move or so help me all things right and fair I will kill you." And he meant it. Starrk was standing between him and his mate, and no one could do that. They couldn't. There were growls from the group as weres responded to his threat. Individually, or by threes and maybe even by fives, these guys were weak. But by the dozens like they were, Grimmjow didn't stand a chance. Grimmjow didn't care.

"Look, Grimmjow, I get why you want to go out right now," Starrk started, looking completely unfazed because he probably was. Grimmjow peeled back his lips and let out a full-blown yowl.

"I know you do!" he shouted. "You've mated! You know what I need, so dammit let me pass!" At the mention of his mate Starrk's eyes went blank, and all of the weres became dead silent. Grimmjow was oblivious to Starrk's haunted face.

"You know you shouldn't bring that up," a calm voice said from behind Grimmjow, and he whirled around. Neliel's eternally calm face and gentle eyes staring at him made him see red. He snarled and grabbed her collar, yanking her up harshly until his spit hit her face with every word he growled. She didn't flinch.

"Are you challenging my authority, _prey?_" he snapped his deadly teeth together, clacking centimeters from Neliel's nose. Neliel's big homey eyes just looked at him, like he wasn't threatening her life, and _God _if those eyes were green they would have the exact same look as Ulquiorra's. And _fuck_ if knowing they weren't didn't hurt like hell. Grimmjow curled his lip into a sneer, but it didn't come across as cocky. Just pained. "Don't look at me like that!" he demanded, shaking Neliel's limp body harshly. "Stop it! _Stop it!_"

"What is going on?" a deep, more rough than usual voice said from the open study, and every muscle in Grimmjow's body acted as if it were already in rigor mortis. His head snapped around and stared at his father, who was rubbing his bloodshot eyes and didn't smell so strongly of liquor anymore. He must have slept some of it off. Brutus squinted at what was before him as if the alcohol or the related headache was still clouding his eyes, and Grimmjow's mind both ceased and raced. The stairs were clear, but if he went back upstairs now he would never get out. Everyone had their full attention on his father, he could try to run with enough speed to get through the canines before they realized it. He knew he couldn't fight through them fast enough, not when Brutus was standing right there, but if he could get out they wouldn't follow him. But could he be swift enough?

Brutus leaned against the door to his study and squinted more. "Grimmjow? Is that you? What are you doing?" Grimmjow's body tensed, and he swore in his mind. God damn it! He turned all of the need to see Ulquiorra into energy and fed it to his legs, then let go of Neliel and dashed. He didn't even feel his legs going, but he was faster than he'd ever been before and he was barreling towards the door, through a large group of were bodies. He wondered for an insane, split second if this was how a hunter's bullet felt. He saw unregistered surprise on the face of a werefox, and he made a sharp veering turn to the left and leapt up the stairs before anyone's head could turn to follow his movement.

Self-preservation won out over love.

.:!:.:!:.:!:.:!:.:!:.:!:.:!:.:!:.

The amount of time Grimmjow spent using his need for Ulquiorra as physical energy could have been hours or seconds or years, but it didn't matter any which way. No matter the strength he used and abused and threw away, there was always more inside of him. It was born of love, and it was as endless and bottomless and eternal as an ocean. No matter how much water evaporated, the frozen places in Grimmjow were still melting to raise the water level.

So instead Grimmjow paced wildly through the field of broken objects in his room, feeling like what he was- a cat in a cage without a key. And he was _certain_ that the amount of time he spent doing that was centuries. He moved frantically, guilt of multiple kinds gnawing at him and keeping him walking, as if he could escape the things by traversing the same path in the same room over and over again. At that moment, the only hate he felt was at himself. _He_ had driven his father back to the drink. _He_ had brought up Starrk's mate. _He_ had wanted to rip his only friend's head from her body. _He_ had chosen to save himself.

That was what hurt the worst. Sure, in this case it was no big deal to run away, but what if someday Ulquiorra needed him? What if they started dating and on the way back from some restaurant or something Grimmjow jogged ahead or fell behind and a hunter took the opportunity to grab Ulquiorra? That hunter would assume that Ulquiorra knew about Grimmjow and _kill him-_ and what if Grimmjow ran away then? A human body was no match for a hunter's bullet, one shot anywhere on Ulquiorra's body would kill him, if only from massive blood loss and shock. Ulquiorra would be helpless, he would _need_ Grimmjow. What if Grimmjow was so much of a coward that he turned tail and ran?

He saw an image of Ulquiorra being used as a meat shield with a hunter's gun to his fragile skull, his slim body shaking in fear that he would try to conceal but it would be there in his eyes, possibly for the first time that Grimmjow would see, and in the heavy breathing making his flat sternum leap, and in the way his hands would clench at his sides. He would wet his terror-dry lips then swallow thickly, and he would look at Grimmjow with his incredible irises with restrained pleading. Grimmjow's throat constricted.

Just the vague idea of Ulquiorra being endangered pulled a swell of protective instincts from somewhere within Grimmjow. He could remember that feeling's first appearance. It was Halloween, one of the only days Grimmjow could be around humans without getting weird looks. It was the first time he had ever seen Ulquiorra. The sudden feeling of total need to _protect_ had made him reel, even as he had instantaneously felt like all of a sudden _air_ existed around him, like all his life he'd been breathing something other than oxygen. He had never thought so clearly.

He could still feel the way his lips had tingled, and it wasn't until afterwords that he had understood that it was because he had wanted to kiss the strange new boy. Whether he wanted to kiss his lips or his temple he still wasn't sure. And Ulquiorra's _smell!_ His smell was like- was like- there really wasn't anything in particular that Grimmjow could compare it to. Nothing in the world smelled even vaguely like Ulquiorra. Grimmjow still felt it in his nose, and maybe it was just because of the force of his desire but he swore it was like Ulquiorra stood there next to him the smell was so vivid. The only thing about it that could be described was the way it made Grimmjow's heart both stop and skip and speed at the same time, and the way it made Grimmjow's mouth both wet and dry, and so many other things that Grimmjow could never really put his finger on.

There was a knock on the door, a firm but unimposing knock, and Grimmjow stopped. "Who is it?" he asked, but he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"It's me," a familiar, soft voice said, muffled through the heavy door, and the pang of guilt came rushing back. For a moment, thinking about Ulquiorra had pushed it away. Grimmjow hesitantly strode to the door, through the white fluff that used to be inside his mattress and shredded pillows and splinters of wood.

"Neli-" he started as he opened the door, but was abruptly stopped by something balk and cotton that was thrust against his nose and mouth. His senses were flooded with his mate's scent, and it was certain that it was coming from the garment. Grimmjow didn't realize he was clutching it to himself until Neliel put her hand back by her side and it didn't fall. He stared at her with wide eyes, even as he felt himself let go of much of his tension. So he really _had_ been smelling Ulquiorra, he just hadn't known it.

"It's his shirt," Neliel supplied. "I know it's not the same, but I thought it would help." Grimmjow blinked at her, and once again he felt like a rather large piece of dung.

"It does," he said, pulling the shirt away just a little. It was incredible, how his hands and fingers tickled and his arms hummed in the reverberation; this was the closest Grimmjow had ever come to _touching_ Ulquiorra. More than Ulquiorra's smell clung to this fabric- his very life force still lingered, sloughed off his skin like sweat onto everything he touched, coming off in plenty. Ulquiorra's existence was like Grimmjow's ocean for it. "Um, I...you wanna come in?" he asked, and Neliel looked past him into his demolished room. He almost blushed.

"Sure," she said anyway, and Grimmjow stepped aside readily to let her in. The more he let Ulquiorra's sweet scent in the more aware he became about how this looked. He must have seemed just like a toddler throwing a tantrum. Neliel walked through the rubble as though it weren't there, cocking her head at a long rip in the back of the armchair. "Remind me to bring you some fabric glue," she said.

"Uh, hey. Neliel, I uh..." Grimmjow started, then stopped, rubbing the back of his blue head. Well, shit. He didn't understand why it was so hard for him to say he was sorry, especially to the people who mattered to him. "I'm, ah, I'm-"

"I know," Neliel said easily, sitting on the edge of his flayed mattress and looking at him. "So how long has it been since you've seen him?"

"Too damn long," Grimmjow sighed, sitting heavily beside her and ignoring the way that the exposed springs wobbled. "Two weeks and three days, and God I really need to see him. Thing've been so insane lately, and with my dad..." He shook his head dejectedly. "Shit's just hit the fan, that's all."

"I _heard_ your dad got upset with you," Neliel said. "I thought it was strange, because he was in such a good mood when he asked for you."

"He wasn't in a 'good mood,'" Grimmjow said. "He was drunk."

Silence.

"It's just- just that he said he'd never do it again," Grimmjow said, the words rushing forth on a breath that he hadn't known he'd needed to take. "He _promised_, Nelly, and- and he _punched_ me." He nestled his head in his hands, stooping over himself where he sat. "He _punched_ me. And he punched me hard- it _hurt,_ Nel!" He breathed raggedly, harshly, feeling again the throb in his stomach. "It still hurts!" A gentle and rested on his arm.

"Let me see," Neliel said, or perhaps it was an order. Her voice was so calm and soft that it was hard to tell. Grimmjow shook his head. "Grimmjow." That was definitely an order, and Grimmjow reluctantly raised his shirt. He didn't look at her; he didn't look at it. He knew that ti was an angry purple, that it faded to a yellow around the edges that made Grimmjow think of a hole being rotted away in his center, that it was large and grotesque. He knew.

"He did hit you hard," Neliel said so hushed that even Grimmjow's sensitive ears only barely picked up on it.

"He didn't hold back at all," he said hollowly.

"I'll bring you some Neosporin," Neliel said at her normal level. "It looks like his ring cut you right here. Advil is good, too. Anything else you need?" She asked as she stood, and something in Grimmjow seized and wrapped around her. She was all he could hold on to now.

"Stay," he said. "Just- just stay for me." Neliel looked at him for a second, then sat back down. She did it as if nothing at all had happened, like Grimmjow hadn't almost harmed her, like he wasn't a desperate, needy piece of shit, and in his own way he loved her for it. He pressed Ulquiorra's shirt to his nose again, letting everything fall away because hell, he was just too tired to deal with it anymore.

"Hey, Nelly?" he said weakly into the shirt that had instantaneously become his most prized possession, using the nickname he'd called her when they were kids and he couldn't pronounce her name. "Thank you." Neliel looped her arm into Grimmjow's inobtrusively.

"You're welcome, Grimmy."


End file.
